The Runaway
by Hurricane Amy
Summary: Amelia and Owen get engaged and suddenly the youngest Shepherd is hit with that familiar urge to run. One-shot. Fluff.


The Runaway

 **A/N** : I asked for drabble prompts on tumblr and I was given, "I can't let you do that." This is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it!

He proposed. Owen Hunt proposed. And she was stoked about it. Really. She was going to be Mrs. Amelia Hunt. Shepherd-Hunt. Maybe she would just keep her last name. She hadn't decided yet. It's not as if she was going to beat Addison for having the most last names anyway… Right, not the point. The point was that she was excited. When he got down on one knee, there was a surge of adrenaline, and she could feel the corners of her lips tugging into a smile so wide her cheeks started to hurt. Tears prickled at her eyes as she jumped into his arms. It was all very romcom. Very picturesque. And he was the perfect guy, after all. She loved him. More than she ever thought she could love a man. Yeah, excited.

Except this whole thing felt wrong. It felt wrong and it felt utterly and completely terrifying, and she couldn't for the life of her explain why. But every time they went to pick out cake or talked about different venues, a part of her would shut down. It became hard to breathe, and all she wanted to do was hide. Because for Amelia Shepherd, happiness seemed to serve only as a prelude to devastation, and with all she had lost in her life, she couldn't imagine losing Owen, too. Nothing scared her more. And she couldn't help wondering if he was better off without her – if this feeling in her gut was an indication that she should get out before the storm. If she should skip out before it was too late.

When Amelia first kicked drugs, she took up running. It was one of her favorite hobbies, like the rush she got from that, the clarity in her mind was an addiction all its own. She was great at it, too. She could run for miles without losing her breath, go for hours, it seemed, lost in the sensation of feet hitting the ground. What she _wasn't_ great at was stopping. When she stopped, she gave herself time to think, and thinking was never good for her. Thinking – unless she had a purpose, a plan, _a distraction_ – only ever brought trouble. And so became her life; a runner – literally and metaphorically – which is exactly how she found herself packing a suitcase in the middle of the night, waiting for the American Airlines website to load so she could plan her escape. L.A. again, maybe? Or just wing it off to Paris or the Bahamas. Japan, perhaps. She had never been to Asia. Or maybe she could finally find that place where no one knew her, where she hadn't already messed up, and where she could drink in the morning without guilt. Okay, so maybe not so much that last part. Sobriety was still in check. It's not like she was going for good, anyway. Just a week or so to clear her head. Probably. Right?

She leaned back against the headboard, scrolling through a list of potential destinations. A loud breath released from her lips, trying to figure out what sounded good and still held the added bonus of leaving as soon as possible. Unlike some of the other doctors she knew (Charlotte and Naomi, mostly), first class wasn't an issue. Preferable, if it were a long flight, but she had done Germany and back cramped in the back of a plane sitting right across from the washroom and been fine. At least that made it easier. She just wanted to go somewhere. It didn't matter how.

But as she sat there, staring at numbers and dates, she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe _running_ was wrong this time. When she and James had gotten engaged, she couldn't get out of L.A. fast enough. She knew it wasn't meant to be. She knew when she left – no matter how little she wanted to admit it – that even if she came back, it wouldn't be to him. But with Owen… Now it was different. This was all so stupid. She was being stupid. She loved Owen, right? She loved him and she wanted to be with him more than anything, and it wasn't an underlying knowledge that their marriage wasn't right, but rather the fear of losing him. Terrified of losing him, so she would leave instead. Set him free to keep him safe out of some superstition from bad luck. Take out her past on him – that was her way, wasn't it? Deprive them both of happiness because she couldn't fathom the grief that would come either way? But that didn't explain the rest. It didn't explain why she felt a suffocating tightness in her chest with even the word _wedding_. No, there was still something nagging at her – something that needed to be fixed.

Eyes dropped to the keyboard and she chewed on her lip in contemplation. Tapping her finger lightly against the plastic, she remained there in a silent daze until an idea struck. Within seconds, a final decision was made. Tickets were purchased and printed. A hotel was booked.

Moving as quietly as possible so as not to wake Meredith and the kids, or Maggie, who was an especially (and annoyingly) light sleeper, Amelia tip-toed off to the printer to grab her papers. Cursing out the creaks of the floorboards beneath her feet as she made her way back up the stairs, she shut the door behind her, but her attempt at silence was not enough. A light tap on her door came moments later, and she pulled it open to find the cardio surgeon standing there with a cocked brow.

"Hey, Maggie," she breathed, refusing to crack the door open more than enough to see her face.

"Hey, night owl. It's three in the morning and I heard you wandering around. Saw your light on when I came out to check the house and wanted to make sure everything was okay.

"Yeah," she replied. "It's great. Just…couldn't sleep. Decided to take care of some stuff instead."

"What kind of stuff? Do you want some help? I was having weird dreams anyway. I could use the distraction."

"No, no. It's– Everything's good."

Dark eyes scrutinized her for a moment, arms folding across her chest. "Amelia? What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that. You're totally hiding something. Oh my god, is Hunt in there? Did I just… _interrupt_?"

Amelia couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head in return. "No, Hunt's at home. You didn't interrupt anything. I'm just– I've got to take care of some stuff."

"Yeah, you already said that."

"Yeah. I, um– I might not be around so much the next few days. I already emailed Bailey and my teams. Edwards is going to be in charge. I've got to, um–"

"Take care of that stuff?"

"Mhm."

"Out of town stuff."

"Yeah."

Eyes narrowed. "Does Owen know about this?"

Amelia nodded slowly, blowing out a breath. "He will."

"What's going on, Shepherd? Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying," the smaller girl insisted. "Seriously. Let it go, Pierce. It's not a big thing. I'll be back soon and it's– it'll all be fine."

"Uh-huh." Maggie didn't look sold – not even close – but she did back up, turning to go back to her own room. "Just make sure you take care of everything so when you come back, it's not an even bigger mess to clean up."

Amelia didn't bother to respond, simply closed the door behind her, opening up her closet to determine what she would need to wear in Scotland. Edinburgh, to be more precise. She had been once before, visited a place called Jupiter Artland that had never quite escaped from her mind, and now would be the perfect time to go back. Pulling a final dress from her collection, she carefully folded it into her suitcase and zipped it up. Grinning to herself, there was only one thing left to do.

But thoughts were interrupted by another knock on her door, but this time there was no waiting for a reply. "Maggie, I told you–" Amelia halted, turning to face Owen, whose face was several shades darker red than she had ever seen before. Her stomach dropped. "Hey, Owen…"

"Hey? That's it? Pierce called and said I had to come over because you were about to leave town. I said that was crazy because you hadn't told me anything about going away, and I come in here and what's this?" he motioned across the room, rambling so fast she couldn't get a word in. "A suitcase? What do you think you're doing, Amelia? I can't let you do this. I thought we promised no more running."

"No, you don't–" She stepped toward him, trying to reach for his hand, but he had already grabbed the tickets off her dresser.

"Edinburgh? You're going to _Scotland_ without telling me?"

"I was going to–"

"What? Leave me a bedside note? Send me a 'wish you were here' postcard? Email me? What?"

"No, I was about–"

"God, Amelia. I trusted you. When we got back together, you said no running and I believed you. I believed you because I love you and I hoped–"

"Owen, stop!" she exclaimed. "Stop for a second and let me speak."

Jaw clenched, it took everything in him to restrain his anger – his _betrayal_ – but he swallowed, motioning for her to continue.

"I'm not– I'm not running away. I mean, I was going– I thought about it. I won't deny that. I thought about it because I love you and that scares me. It terrifies me more than I could ever hope to explain. Every man I've ever–" She shook her head. "I thought about it. How I wanted to run away because something didn't feel right. Because I was scared I would lose you too, and because I don't think I could handle that. And then I realized losing you by choice would be even worse. Losing you because I screwed up and got spooked and ran away… I couldn't live with that. But I still didn't want to get married–"

"So, what?" he interrupted. "You want me to take back my proposal? That still doesn't explain the tickets."

"I don't want you to take back anything, and if you would let me _finish_ instead of interrupting, I could've gotten to that. I thought I was running away because I lost so many people and maybe I'm cursed, you know? Maybe it was the universe telling me to get out so you still had a chance. Ridiculous I know. And I realized tonight– I would be _crushed_ if anything happened to you. But I can live with that fear because you never know what's going to happen in life. You don't. No matter how hard you plan, nature just laughs and tells you to screw yourself. So why not be happy when you can, right? And you– Owen, you make me so happy. It's scary, but it's also exhilarating and amazing and I don't want to live without it – without _you_. That's not– I didn't want to get married _here_. In Seattle. In front of our friends and family. It doesn't feel right."

"What?" His expression twisted in confusion. "Why not?"

Amelia bit the inside of her cheek, bringing her eyes to match his gaze. "Derek was supposed to walk me down the aisle. For every one of my sisters, after my dad died, he walked them down the aisle. He promised– He swore to me that on my wedding day, he would be there really early. He would stand guard outside my room to make sure I didn't bolt without telling anyone and he would kiss me on the cheek, just like Nancy and Kath and Liz, and he would walk me down the aisle. And he would give me away and he would dance with me and he would tell me how proud–" Her voice cut off and she shook her head, swallowing away the lump in her throat. "I don't want to get married in front of everyone we love because there are so many people who should be there but aren't. We're right, but that– that wouldn't feel right."

"So the tickets to Scotland–"

"Well, if you bothered to look, you'd notice there's two of them there and back. Leaving tomorrow. Bailey's chief now, Kepner could cover the trauma center while you're gone. Edwards already agreed to cover for me. I know Neilson's been there longer, but he kind of sucks, so I'd rather leave it with her. And there's this place– I went back in college. It's really– It's breathtakingly beautiful. Water, greenery, everything, and you can get married there. _We_ can get married there. I want to be your wife, Owen. I want to have a future with you for the rest of our lives. I just don't want to get married here."

"You want to get married in Scotland," he nodded, not so much a question as a statement.

"I want to get married in Scotland. So, what do you say? How about you run away _with_ me this time?"

Owen paused for a moment, taking a second to think it through, to process. Did the wedding really matter? He already had one of those, and he didn't care much for fancy celebrations. He just wanted Amelia, and their life together – same as she did. Her answer came in the form of a nod as he leaned down to steal a kiss. "Yeah, let's run away together."


End file.
